Again she crouched down, pressing her hand against her heart, listening.  It was a very still night, and few sounds disturbed its peacefulness.  Somewhere, far off, a cart rumbled along; presently one of the Polterham clocks began to strike, faintly but clearly.  That caused her to look in the direction of the town; she saw the radiance of lights, and thought of what was going on over there—­ the shouting, rushing, fighting.

A night-insect buzzed against her, and, almost in the same moment, there came from down in the hollow, from beyond the trees, a sound which chilled her blood, stopped the wild beating of her heart.  It seemed to echo with dreadful clearness from end to end of the heavens.  A dull splash of water, that was all; in reality, scarcely to be heard at this distance save by an ear straining in dreadful expectation.

She made one effort to rise, but could not.  Another, and she was fleeing back to the cottage as if chased for her life.

The back-door was locked; she had to go round into the garden, and there the servant was waiting.

“Have you found her, m’m?”

“No—­I can’t think—­go in, Annie.”

The girl was frightened; yet more so when, by the light from the sitting-room, she saw her mistress’s face.

“Do you think she’s gone home, m’m?”

“Yes, no doubt.  Go into the kitchen.  I’ll call you again.”

Mrs. Wade entered the parlour, and closed the door.  Her dress was in disorder; her hair had in part fallen loose; on her hands were traces of mud.  She did not sit down, and remained just within the door; her look and attitude were those of a terrified listener.

Presently she moved towards the fire, and knelt before it—­though she had no need of warmth.  Starts and shudders indicated her mental anguish.  Yet no sound escape her, until, in a sudden convulsion of her frame, she gave a cry of terror, and threw herself at full length upon the ground.  There she lay, struggling with hysterical passion, half choked by sobs, now and then uttering a hoarse wail, at length weeping with the self-abandonment of a child.

It lasted for ten minutes or more, and then followed a long silence.  Her body still quivered; she lay with her face half hidden against the hearth-rug, lips parted, but teeth set, breathing heavily.

The clock upon her mantelpiece sounded the third quarter—­a quarter to nine.  It drew her attention, and at length she half raised herself.  Still she had the look of one who listens.  She stood up, mechanically smoothed her hair, and twice walked the length of the room.  Nearing the door yet again, she opened it, and went upstairs.

Five minutes, and she had made herself ready to go out.  At the foot of the stairs she called to her servant.

“I must go into Polterham, Annie.  If Mr. Quarrier should come whilst I’m away, say that Mrs. Quarrier and I have gone out, but shall be back very soon.  You understand that?”